deepundergroundpoetry.com
Hospital waste
The day I was born my true mother went up in smoke,
her place taken by a placental mammal
whom the world proclaimed to be my mother.
When I was twelve I wanted to kill the impostor;
would that I had, would that I had.
Published 27th Dec 2015
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27th Dec 2015 2:53pm
27th Dec 2015 10:43pm
It's very heavy being physical sometimes. I often wished for different parents at that age too, especially during moves. Would that I had...
27th Dec 2015 11:01pm
I loved my father to bits, so lucky there. I remember staring out the window waiting for him to come home from work and how she hated that.
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